Page 22 of Beyond Her Manner
Agatha peered at her through slitted eyes.
“I’m surprised you weren’t there partying with them, since you practically live there.”
Gillian covered another yawn as the cat closed her eyes. She didn’t have the luxury of drifting back to sleep like her four-legged, part-time houseguest, no matter how much she wished she could. Duty called, so she pulled herself from her warm bed and dressed for church. She would have to skip riding Dudley this morning — she was in no condition for it — and without the parkland to ride through, she had lost her desire for it at the moment.
The church service didn’t help her tiredness. It felt longer than usual, which was always too long, and she almost nodded off twice. Luckily only Bridget appeared to notice, nudging her from her seat beside her.
As the service ended and the usual milling about commenced amongst the villagers, the major approached her.
“Ah, Gillian. I still haven’t heard from that Berkley woman about using her bottom field for the classic car show. Would you have a word with her? Tell her how things are done around here?”
Gillian glared at him. “As you no longer require my services to open the show, I have no reason to be involved. I’m sure you can see my conundrum, Major.”
His face dropped. “Oh! About that… I thought my asking her might persuade her; you know, cajole her into it. You know we’d want nothing more than for you to open it again, Gilly.”
Gillian cringed and shot him a death stare, not only for shortening her name but for trying to flatter Viola Berkley, hoping it would tempt her into opening the show. At least it appeared to have backfired, all credit to the new lady of the manor.
“Good day, Major,” she said with a nod. Having spotted Bridget coming back from the toilets in the adjoining chapter house, it was time to make an escape.
“Are you not going?” Bridget asked as she joined her.
“You must be joking; it would be like using the lavatories in the sandpaper aisle at the DIY store. I’ll wait until I get home.”
Bridget smirked. “Yes, it was a bit. I suppose it cuts costs even more if no one uses it.”
As they left the church, Gillian tried to circumvent the reverend. She was in no mood for him today. Her efforts were to no avail.
“Mrs Carmichael,” he sniffed. “We did discuss you freeing up the front pew last week, did we not?”
“Miss Berkley is not here, nor has she been here for the last few weeks,” Gillian observed. “Nor do we know if she has any intention of being here! Shall we discuss it further if she everdeignsto be here?”
The reverend inclined his head, as if sensing from Gillian’s tone that now wasn’t the time to press her.
Taking that as an agreement, Gillian marched off, closely followed by Bridget.
“Can you believe she hasn’t attended church again? If not for us, the manor pew would have been empty for the first time in—”
“Four hundred years!” Bridget interrupted.
Gillian lifted an eyebrow at her friend. “More than four hundred years, Bridget. I’m surprised we couldn’t feel all the Carmichaels turning beneath us in the crypt. The major has been on at me about the classic car show. For someone who hasn’t been here long, Miss Berkley has caused a lot of disruption. She needs to understand her duties if she’s to be lady of the manor.”
Gillian covered a yawn with her gloved hand as they approached the gate.
“You sound like you need to go back to bed,” Bridget stated.
“Mmm,” Gillian agreed. “Did the party not keep you awake all night?”
“No, I left around eleven.”
Stopping dead in her tracks, Gillian growled out, “You… attended her party?”
Bridget kept walking, oblivious at first; then she slowed and turned back when she noticed Gillian wasn’t beside her. “Yes. I was surprised not to see you there. Although I suppose you and Viola didn’t exactly hit it off, did you? There were quite a few famous people there. I had a lovely chat with one of the Spice Girls. Not sure which one, though.”
“Anyone else from the village there?” Gillian sniffed. “Actually, I don’t wish to know.”
Bridget bit her lip and replied softly, “Should I not have gone? Is it considered sleeping with the enemy?”
“You’re fifty-four, Bridget. You don’t need my permission to attend a party.” Gillian felt like adding that it was exactly like sleeping with the enemy but refrained. Bridget was free to do whatever she chose to do; she just wished she wasn’t getting quite so friendly with that damn Berkley woman.
